"What needs to be broken before it can be used?" the bronze eagle asks.
"An egg." He answers and the door swings open to grant him entrance.
Tom appreciates the riddles, but it is a poor way to guard a Common Room from outsiders.
Nott is bent over one of the tables strewn around the blue room, whispering something to a seventh year.
Some people nod at Tom, a few of the girls smile at him. No one questions his presence in the Ravenclaw tower. He's respected in the House of the ones eager for knowledge. Some might resent him for consistently scoring higher than them in any tests, but generally he's well liked.
The Ravenclaws have their own study group and Tom has an open invitation to attend; he does, from time to time, trying to select whom to steal to add to his Death Eaters.
Nott finally notices him, an eyebrow raised in surprise.
"Hello, Gaunt." Belby greets him, perched on the end of a table. "I hope you are feeling better?"
For a second Tom forgets he'd missed Herbology in the morning, which Slytherins always share with the Ravenclaws.
"Right as rain."
It's the second class he misses in a week. There's a note from Slughorn, asking to have a word with Tom, burning in a fireplace down in the dungeons.
"What brings you around here?" Nott asks, having made his way to Tom's side.
"Who's Olive Hornby?"
Nott blinks a few times, face blank. "I have no idea. Should I know her?"
Tom can't believe he's become entangled in it, but it's safest to keep his word and make sure that foolish child really thinks he went into the lavatory to help her.
"First or second year, I assume. Your House. Torments someone named Myrtle?"
Nott's surprise only increases. "The annoying little Mud-Muggleborn? She mopes around the Common Room all day." He lowers his voice.
Tom nods. "Find out who Honrby is." Tom lowers his voice as well. "Do me a favour and impress upon her the importance to never bother Myrtle again, will you?"
Nott clearly thinks Tom has lost his mind, but agrees to do it, nonetheless.
(-)
"Tom! Wait!" Hagrid yells after him, his booming voice filling the courtyard.
His shadow is big, spilling over the ground in a great mass. Tom doesn't concentrate on it.
"What do you want, half-breed" Rodolphus barks at him, as Hagrid gets closer.
Hagrid's face falls, hurt, his shoulders slumping. Tom wants to strangle him-his lack of reaction is insulting, irritates Tom beyond belief. Hagrid's two heads taller than Rodolphus, his shoulders broader and his skin curse resistant.
And there he is, shying away, taking the abuse without even trying to fight back.
Tom wants to hurt him until the boy finally reacts with violence or disappears all together.
Snow had been like Hagrid; she'd been small and frail, so that was different, but no matter how many times passerby kicked her with their feet, she always tried to approach again, scratched no one, never bit, just wanted to be held and fed.
Tom had observed her for days, from afar, before she made her way to him, rubbing her small head on his leg.
"Rodolphus." Tom warns and Lestrange sneers, but shuts up. "What is it, Hagrid?"
Hagrid looks at him with an uncertain smile. "I want to show you something."
"I don't have the time."
Tom swore to himself he'd never again pity defenceless creatures.
"Oh." Hagrid's face drops even more. "Yeah. That's right. Well, if you find a moment, at some point, let me know."
(-)
"This is the fifth class you've missed since the semester started."
Slughorn had finally caught up with Tom, holding him back after double Potions. He gives Tom a note from Merrythought, informing Slughorn of Tom's absence.
"What's going on? You know you can tell me everything."
"I apologize, Professor. I've just overslept-"
Slughorn makes a face. "Some of these classes are in the middle of the day."
Tom keeps silent, looking down, pretending to be contrite.
"Now, you're an exceptional student, so no one asked for detention or points to be taken, but Tom, this must stop."
"Yes, sir."
"Albus is worried about you. Says you seem out of sort and I must agree with him."
Tom is hit with an instant headache. "You needn't fret, sir. Neither should Professor Dumbledore. I am just tired."
"Fifth year is challenging. Especially with how many subjects you are taking and all your extracurricular activities."
Slughorn doesn't know the half of it.
"Just ask for guidance, if you need it. I'm here for you."
"Thank you, sir." Tom forces a small smile on his face. "I appreciate it."
"Now, I've written to your father, and he assured me he talked to you about all this."
Tom burned a letter from Marvolo just the night before, without even opening it. The second one Tom doesn't respond to.
"He did, sir. All is fine."
"Good, good." Slughorn pats him on the back and Tom winces inwardly. "If you ask me, you have that look about you that torments many lads your age." He winks, big bushy eyebrows wiggling. "Are you lovesick, Tom?"
Dear Merlin.
"Is there a special someone out there that's causing you to lose sleep?"
Revolting as it sounds, it is not a bad cover. Tom looks away again, gives a little shrug.
Slughorn laughs and pats him on the back.
Tom imagines flaying that fat arm, layer by layer.
(-)
MINISTER OF MAGIC UNDER ATTACK!
Tom only truly wakes up while reading the title from Abraxas' newspaper.
He's startled to find himself at the breakfast table.
Falling asleep is complicated to pull off, but waking up after dozing off for just an hour or two proves even rougher.
He'd asked his roommates for assistance with it, determined not to miss any further classes.
Only he'd overlooked the exceedingly efficient curses he has placed around his bed. Granted, Abraxas's high-pitched scream did rouse Tom, so the idea had some merit.
He can't recall who healed Abraxas as he dragged himself to go shower and dress.
"She alive?" Rodolphus asks, shovelling bacon in his mouth.
"The morons attacked her in her home, while it was guarded by no less than five Aurors." Abraxas' voice comes from behind the Daily Prophet.
"Not to mention she was quite formidable herself." Walburga adds, reading her own newspaper and pilling food on a plate at the same time. "Woman is a cornucopia of knowledge. She tested basically every student that passed through Hogwarts in the last half a century."
"Did they get Grindelwalds's men? Where they Brits or imported?" Alphard tries to pick up the paper, but Walburga slaps his hand away.
"A mix." Abraxas answers. "They swallowed tiny capsules with poison, hidden in their teeth, as soon as they were arrested."
"What kind of poison?" Rodolphus is generally not excited about matters such as these, but he's developed a fascination with poisons lately.
"It's not stated." Walburga shoves the plate under Tom's face. "Here."
"I'm not hungry." He pushes it away, but she thrusts it back in place.
"You've got Quidditch in thirty minutes. You need your strength. Eat up!"
The match! Tom closes his eyes, swears furiously in his head. He'd been certain it was Friday, when he woke up, but it's already Saturday, it seems.
"That's some loyalty to the "greater good"" Nott squeezes himself between Alphard and Rodolphus. "Killing themselves-"
"It's not for the cause. It's Grindelwald they're loyal too." Orion pipes up.
"Shut it, midget." Walburga snaps at him. "And what are you doing here, Nott? Begone, enemy!"
"What are you on about?"
"The game." Abraxas lowers the newspaper to stare at Nott. "Merlin, you're such a nerd."
"Huh." Nott is not fazed. "It's today?"
"Apparently." Tom mutters and cuts his boiled egg in six perfect circles before eating it.
It's the finale, so every player gives their best, which leads to the game taking forever.
Irritated, Tom causes two Ravenclaws to fall from their brooms and the keeper to become extremely confused. He accomplishes this without even as much as a flick of his wrist, just by sheer will to have the bloody thing end.
Rodolphus bashes someone's skull in with his bat and without four players, the Ravenclaws concede the victory.
"They've got a great team." Mulciber comments in the locker-room.
"Amazing." Abraxas agrees.
"Impossible to defeat without tricks." Mulciber shrugs. "Great job, Tom."
They've all cheated, as often as feasible, but the other Slytherins use brute force. Tom uses magic.
Much more efficient; nevertheless he can see the appeal in smacking someone over the head with a beater bat.
(-)
Tom's tired and extremely irritated. He hadn't slept in days and he's adamant to lay off the potions, so he struggles through his days, stubbornly.
It's a disastrous combination and as a result, his Cruciatus is a tad too effective in their meeting, leaving Avery shaking and with blood pouring out of his nose even hours later.
Alphard is giving Tom strange looks and Tom's afraid Alphard might be the next to suffer the consequences of his ill mood, if he doesn't desist staring at Tom.
Abraxas has scurried to their bedroom, claiming he has to study, and Mulciber lowers his eyes whenever they meet Tom's.
Rodolphus is utterly unaffected. If Tom weren't so self-involved, he'd be curious what is going on with him, but as it is, he can't find the energy to care.
"Here". Walburga shoves a goblet in his hand.
Firewhiskey. The Head Boy had just turned seventeen and a small party is taking place.
Tom gives her a look. He'd never once displayed an interest in drinking.
"Trust me." She insists.
"I don't."
She rolls her eyes. "Give it a try." She coaxes.
"I find drunk people distasteful." He reminds her, nodding towards Rodolphus, who's well into his cups already, aggressively seeking to pick a fight with anyone brave enough to let him.
"You need to relax." She says. "You almost gave Avery permanent damage."
"It would have only improved his character." Tom shoots back. "Besides, I was under the impression alcohol is a stimulant."
"Just take a sip."
"You're a terrible influence."
"I'm not the one teaching the rest of us how to torture people." She sips from her own goblet, but makes a face as she swallows.
"I'm an educator." He insists, sniffing the content. It burns his nasal passages.
She coughs. "Suit yourself."
"However will I live without it?" He asks sarcastically as she keeps coughing and puts her goblet down.
She leaves, and he returns his focus to the book of poisons he'd taken from Rodolphus.
The red head had underlined some passages that he must have found particularly interesting.
All lethal things.
"Undetected" is circled in red ink.
The potions are so ridiculously complicated, Rodolphus has no chance to brew them.
Is he truly trying to poison someone?
Is the sort of thing Tom would tell Marvolo about, bouncing off theories. Not that Marvolo indulges, but Tom likes talking out loud in his presence.
Of course, the second he thinks of Marvolo, his anger escalates.
It coincides with Orion picking a fight with Walburga, a little further away, shouts ringing in the Common Room.
Tom drinks the firewhiskey.
It does burn, going down. Unpleasant. He's tempted to give up, but he's not a quitter and he knows to actually feel its effects one is supposed to drink more than just a sip.
He drinks more.
Tom's conflicted about it. His thoughts become murkier and he dislikes it, because it's sure to slow him down. But the hazy quality of his internal ramblings provides some relief.
He knows Marvolo would never agree to it, and in a fit of misplaced rebellion, it's enough incentive to keep drinking.
"I'm not impressed." He tells Walburga, later, when the Common Room is empty and they've somehow ended up under the trap door, though he has no clear recollection of getting there.
He needs to take great care how he enunciates the words, otherwise they come out slurred.
"Worth a shot." She says, playing with his hair, his head in her lap. "I thought whisky is less dangerous than whatever potions you're taking."
He tries to glare at her, but it's hard to accomplish. She's not supposed to know about the potions.
"Can't you sleep, like this?" She asks.
He decides to make a mental note to be angry and concerned with her deductive capabilities the following day, because he cannot focus enough for it at the moment.
"Spinning." He tries to explain it in a concise manner.
But he keeps his eyes closed, regardless.
"What's going on with you, Tom?"
It's hard to gather his thoughts, but he manages. "I'm drunk, not stupid." He says as sternly as he can. "You're a fool if you think inebriating me will make me spill my secrets."
She shuts up for a while, and he snuggles closer into her.
"You never talk about your mother."
Tom says nothing.
"There are rumours, you know?" She goes on.
"Oh?"
"Yes. My mother and her friends find it odd Marvolo has not remarried. That no one is ever invited to your house."
"They think he keeps my mother in the attic?" Tom asks, laughing.
"What?"
The reference flies past her. After all, it's highly improbable she's ever read Jane Eyre.
He's almost asleep, floating on a spinning cloud of comfort, her arms around him.
It's nice, he thinks, sleeping besides someone.
No, no, it's not. It's a bad idea. You're vulnerable.
Tom reaches into his pocket and retrieves his wand, turns on his side and tucks his hand under his head, wand firmly between his fingers.
"Does he hurt you?" Her voice is so soft, he isn't certain she's actually speaking.
Yes.
"No." he answers, knowing she is thinking of a specific kind of hurt, the kind Abraxas or Rodolphus are subjected to.
"I don't believe that." She murmurs, her hand on his shoulder, light and soft, her mouth pressed to his neck.
Tom shrugs.
"After every break, you come back worse." She goes on. "I won't tell anyone, you know that. I just think you need to talk to someone."
Is that what people think? He wonders. That Marvolo is an awful father?
Isn't he?
No, Tom doesn't think he is. He's different than other fathers, but from the little Tom gleamed from other patriarchs, that's a good thing.
Besides, Tom's different than other sons.
Marvolo is excellent. The best. Tom adores him. If only he were honest.
If only he'd love Tom, show him some affection. Is that so hard, so much to ask for? Walburga is doing it, caressing Tom's back, kissing his shoulder. And she's not an affectionate person either, cold as a statue with others.
Tom's not affectionate himself, but he can be with her. He wants to be with Marvolo. To hold him close.
But that's not tolerated. Never was.
He thinks of the other Black woman, Marvolo's. Why she's been allowed close enough to touch, when no one else is.
(-)
There's excitement in the Great Hall, far too much for a Thursday morning.
Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are gathered at the Gryffindor table.
"What's that about?" Tom asks, sitting down.
"It's not like I'll go there and ask." Lucretia says, though she's craning her neck to see better. Most of the Slytherins are doing the same, too proud to mingle with the Gryffindors.
"Nott will tell us." Abraxas says, but Nott is oblivious to all, alone at the Ravenclaw table, head bent over a heavy tome, fingers stained with ink.
The Head Boy is the one to inform them.
"That halfwit, Hagrid." He says, sitting down between Alphard and Walburga.
Something finally ate him, Tom thinks, with some measure of regret.
"If you can believe it, he had an Acromantula as a pet, kept in the castle!"
"No." Tom and Abraxas say at the same time.
"He sure did. Thing got away. Bit another Gryffindor."
"Merlin." Alphard whistles.
"Lost his leg." The Head Boy nods. "Lucky, nevertheless. He'd have lost his life if Dumbledore hadn't arrived swiftly. As it is, he and Slughorn contained the venom long enough to have the boy transferred to St. Mungo."
"Tell me it was Fleet!" Walburga says with glee.
"No, some third-year midget. Wanna hear the best part? The Acromantula ran away."
Lucretia comes closer to Tom, looking around in fright, as if expecting the arachnid to jump on her.
"Dumbledore's been up all night in the Forest, searching for it, to no success."
"How the fuck does one lose an Acromantula? It's huge!" Rodolphus demands.
"It was a young one, from what I hear. Big enough, venomous enough, but not fully grown."
"Obviously." Tom drawls, pushing Lucretia off him. "How else would have Hagrid kept it in the castle if it weren't young? What's going to happen to Hagrid?"
He remembers the part giant trying to "show something" to Tom all semester. He's fairly certain it was the spider.
The head boy shrugs. "Some ministry officials are in Dippet's office right now. I assume they'll expel him."
"Father will have a filed day with it." Abraxas huffs. "Like all the other school governors."
Slughorn takes all the Slytherin to the Common Room after breakfast, to let them know.
"Now, we are reasonably certain the Acromantula ran into the Forest, and we have some experts arriving today to make sure the castle is safe. Meanwhile, please be careful, and walk in pairs in the corridors. Prefects, establish a schedule to make sure one of you escorts the first and second years to their classes."
"Great." Walburga spits with disdain. "As if we don't have enough to do."
"You have nothing to do." Tom reminds her. She has no O.W. Ls, Tom does her homework, she doesn't have to plan secret meetings and find inconspicuous locations for them, or to tutor others.
She sticks her tongue at him and wanders off in a huff, barking at some first years to follow her.
"We want to go with Gaunt!" One of them complains. "You'll just leave us all to die if something attacks us!"
Walburga smacks him over the head.
Tom chooses the second years and spends a few minutes with the other Prefects to figure out the logistics of making sure one of them always accompanies the younger students to their classes.
By late evening, Hagrid's fate is known throughout the school. Expelled, his wand broken in half but allowed to reside on the grounds, after Dumbledore fought tooth and nail for it, saying the boy has nowhere else to go.
"Typical Dumbledore. Imagine if it were one of us in Hagrid's place. He'd want to send us to Azkaban." Abraxas mutters and many Slytherins nod in agreement.
Tom knows Dumbledore is biased, no question about it. But he's self aware enough to recognise there are reasons for it.
After all, once upon a time, Dumbledore had been perfectly nice to Tom. Thought it's been so long into the past, Tom can scarcely believe it happened.
Besides, it's just so easy to hate the man, when he makes it a mission to ruin any fun Tom might have at school.
It's also possible he's biased too, on account of Marvolo. His enemies are Tom's enemies.
"Can you imagine if he'll be made Headmaster?" Abraxas complains.
"He will be." Tom shrugs. "There's no doubt about it. He's the deputy." He's also the most qualified among the teachers, Dippet included.
"I'm rather hoping Grindelwald will put on end to that."
It's come to the point where everybody just accepts a confrontation between the two is inevitable.
Even Tom has fallen prey to it, hyped for it.
He'd read all about Grindelwald incredible feats of magic, defeating teams of Aurors on his own, escaping M.A.C.U.S.A, almost burning down Paris single-handedly.
Dumbledore's smart, yes. But Tom just can't see him facing such an adversary and winning.
Marvolo seems very sure about it, however.
"We'll just have to see, won't we?"
(-)
"He looked up to you, he had no other friends." Dippet says in the Headmaster's office.
"Perhaps if you talk to him, he'll tell you where the monster is."
"I'll do my best, Professors." Tom assures them.
Dumbledore frowns, seems to want to speak against having Tom potentially learn where the arachnid is, but keeps silent, in the end.
It infuriates Tom.
He goes straight to the hut that's been newly constructed for the giant.
"Oh, Tom!" Hagrid starts weeping as soon as he opens the door and hugs Tom.
It's reactive and visceral- Tom pushes him away, hard, stumbles backwards. He's paralysed with fear, remembering the last time a man that was double his size had held him so tight, he doesn't even go for his wand, frozen. "Tom?"
Breathing hard, Tom regains control, though his heart slams against his ribs as the images dissipate from his head and he can see Hagrid, clearly.
"I don't like to be touched." Tom says, because he's still not himself and it just comes out.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Are you alright, you've gone deathly pale."
"I'm fine." He isn't, not yet, but he enters the hut and lets Hagrid give him a glass of water.
In under ten minutes, he tells Tom all he refused to disclose to Dumbledore.
Aragog is in the Forbidden Forest. Which doesn't even bear thinking about, really.
"But you won't tell the Professors, will you Tom? You know they'll hurt him."
Tom likes animals, but he would have told Dippet, if not for the hesitance Dumbledore had shown at trusting Tom.
He's right not to trust you. But Tom dismisses the notion, irritated either way.
"Of course not." He assures Hagrid. "I'm your friend, right?"
"Yes! My best friend."
He feels a stab of pity for the giant because Tom most defiantly is not his friend.
"My mum left when I was little." Hagrid says, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief that could possibly cover Walburga's legs better than some skirts she wears during the summer. "And my dad, who took care of me, just died. And now they took away my wand. I've nothing, Tom. Nothing."
It's your own damn fault. Tom doesn't say it, of course, but he thinks it. Not for the parents part, but for getting himself expelled.
"Your mother was the giant?" He asks, as gentle as he can pretend to be. Giantess certainly aren't very maternal.
"Yes. I don't know much about her, you see. I was a baby when she went and dad doesn't-didn't- like talking about her. I only know her name. Fridwulfa."
Tom leaves before he ends up being uncomfortable with these similarities. He's clearly off his game that night.
(-)
"Tom, is that your father?"
No, I don't think he is.
Tom breathes in relief-he'd assumed he was fantasising, but Abraxas can see Marvolo standing in front of Scrivenshaft's Quills, on Hogsmeade's main street, so he must be there.
Tom's next step is more hesitant than he'd like.
"It is." He states, controlling his voice.
"What's he doing here?"
If Tom were to speculate, he'd say it might have something to do with the last three letters Tom failed to respond to.
"Good day, sir!" The boys say in unison, as they're closing in the distance. Walburga mumbles something.
Marvolo nods in acknowledgement.
Tom's been conditioned for eight years to feel protected and content when in Marvolo's presence, so it's not his fault those feelings rise inside him. But he's determined to not lose sight of reality, of the lies.
Marvolo holds Tom's gaze for a few moments before his eyes move over the group. They linger on Rodolphus for a little longer than the rest.
"Go on. I'll catch up later." Tom says and the boys say their polite goodbyes and wander off. Walburga lingers, her eyes shifting between Tom and Marvolo, a slight frown between her sharp eyebrows.
Alphard takes her elbow and drags her along.
And then there's silence.
Tom checks Marvolo over for recent signs of injury, like he's done since he discovered those gruesome scars the older man carries.
It's just habit, a compulsion he cannot deny, no matter if he's trying to.
He might be dismayed with Marvolo, but the prospect of him in any pain makes Tom's blood boil, as it did that night in their small potion laboratory at their house.
Can he even feel pain? Can he feel anything at all?
"What brings you around here?"
He much prefers Marvolo with red eyes. The brown ones are a lie, another mask, a deceit Tom must see through.
He's been thinking for weeks if the only time he'd ever seen Marvolo, for who he actually was, had been when he'd pulled his wand at Tom in rage.
No. You know him. The voice sound childish, hopeful. It reminds Tom of every rare smile that Marvolo bestowed upon him, of long summer nights in the library, the smell of peppermint strong in the room as Marvolo sipped at his tea.
Of the tale of the Three Brothers read to him, at his bedside, a rich, assured voice lulling Tom' to sleep, eradicating all nightmares.
"You haven't returned my letters."
Because you aren't honest. Because you hurt me.
Tom stares at him and responds with a lie of his own. "I'm busy."
See how you like it.
Marvolo knows it's a bogus excuse but doesn't press further. He probably imagines Tom's having a hard time with his issues. Not that Tom's ever voiced them, but he suspects they're hard to miss by someone that knows him so thoroughly.
There's also Slughorn and his damn letters. Tom hopes he mentioned to Marvolo that Dumbledore's worried. That should have ruined Marvolo's day.
"Do you want a tour?" Tom asks. "Or you've been in Hogsmeade before?"
Marvolo looks around. "Not for a very long time."
Old Tom would ask when that was, but what's the point anymore when it could also be a lie.
Stop it.
He would have been overjoyed if Marvolo would have come to visit him at school, months before.
A part of him is ecstatic now, but the other is doing its best to ruin it.
He walks towards his favourite spot and Marvolo falls in line.
"It might have been too long since I was a child; is this level of excitement normal?"
"No." Tom looks around as he walks, sees groups of students talking fast in the distance, a murmur of drama in the air. "We've had quite the event, two days ago. Did you not read the newspaper?"
"I've been abroad. I only just returned. It wasn't a leisure type of affair that would allow me to read anything."
Tom stifles his curiosity.
"Hagrid, the giant I mentioned, the one that-"
"I know who he is."
"Well, he was expelled. Apparently he was harbouring an Acromantula in the castle, it got loose and-"
Marvolo stops. "You promised me you wouldn't." He says, voice very low.
Tom has to stop as well to look at him in confusion.
"Wouldn't what?" He asks. "Let Hagrid keep a terrible pet?" Tom would recall something like that.
"Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you."
"Were you… injured in your travels?" He peers at Marvolo' more thoroughly, only to notice that Marvolo's studying Tom's face the same way."What are you talking about? How could I have known that fool is playing around with a deadly arachnid? And why would have I made any promise about it?"
"What happened?" Marvolo asks, very intense.
"Not much. Hagrid lost control of the thing and it bit a Gryffindor. He lost his leg, but he'd have died if Slughorn and Dumbledore wouldn't have happened to have tea a room away from the attack."
Marvolo looks gob smacked for a few moments. And suddenly he throws back his head and laughs.
It's contagious. Tom's still perturbed about what had just transpired, he's still angry, but he'd always had a soft spot for that true laugh.
"It's not that amusing." He says, because really, it isn't.
"Oh, but it is." Marvolo's eyes, fraudulent as they are, flicker with something genuine. "I was considering you'd set an XXXXX creature on the student population and -" He laughs again. "It was Hagrid."
It is a little unexpected, put that way.
"Imagine both of them out at the same time." Tom whispers. As an unfortunate of a coincidence as two dark lords inhabiting the same continent.
"Impossible. If you'd woken the Basilisk, the spider would have-"
"Hid in terror. Right." Tom nods. Spiders are frightened of the King of Serpents. Hagrid's eight-legged friend would not have dared get out of the trunk he was hidden in.
Somehow, Tom is still responsible of a deadly dark creature wandering around Hogwarts, even when he decided to keep his asleep. It just ensured the other would grow bolder.
"Anyhow." Tom starts walking again. "They lost the thing. It's somewhere in the Forbidden Forest and no matter how much Dumbledore is searching for it, it remains at large."
Marvolo's face lights up in glee when hearing of Dumbledore's embarrassing failure.
"Irresponsible to authorise a Hogsmeade weekend in such conditions."
Tom snorts. "Have you met these people? Dippet would not disrupt the rigid schedule he has us under, even if students would be dropping dead at every corner. He is far too concerned with appearances."
Marvolo nods and within the next couple of minutes his face resumes its black default setting.
"Why did you think I had anything to do with it?" Tom asks as they cut a corner into a secondary street.
"I assumed you woke her and blamed someone else for it. A part giant with a famous infatuation with unusual creatures would make an ideal target."
Tom's jaw ticks. "If I'd have woken her, I wouldn't want anyone else to take the credit. I'd have woken her exactly to show everyone who I am."
"That attitude would have changed quickly when faced with consequences."
Tom doesn't answer, because he'd rather not think about the Basilisk and invite temptation in his heart again.
The streets get less crowded at they advanced into the resident areas. They walk in silence, Tom trying to just enjoy Marvolo's company, which he craves even after everything.
He feels something, which he had felt before, a sense he is being observed. Tom is a paranoid man, so he'd ignored it the first few times it had happened since he started walking with Marvolo, but the feeling is harder and harder to dismiss.
"I think someone's following us." He hisses in Parselmouth and discreetly grabs his wand inside his coat pocket.
Marvolo looks very uninterested. "Good. You caught on fast." He responds in English. "He can't hear us. Do you think I'd have spoken about the basilisk without making sure no one can listen in?"
"Who is it?" Tom fights the instinct to turn around. Most probably they're concealing themselves, anyhow.
"Two of them. Grindelwald's followers."
Tom's shoulders draw back so tight it hurts.
"Don't insult me." Marvolo snarls. "As If I can't handle these riff raffs. Besides, if he sent five men after the Minister, he'd be sure to send more for me. These are just scouts."
"Does he know about Voldemort?" Tom still whispers, even if Marvolo assured him they cannot be overheard. It's just a basic impulse to be quiet while watched.
"Unlikely. But I will not dismiss the possibility. He probably just knows than Marchbanks, Dumbledore and myself are the ones that make it impossible for him to gain ground in Britain. Dumbledore is all safe behind those walls, so he's trying to get rid of us."
"You'd think that would be the sort of situation that one would mention to one's son." Tom says through gritted teeth.
"A situation." Marvolo mocks. "It's nothing."
"A dark lord is after you, I would argue-"
"I'm not a victim." Marvolo's getting heated. "There's no one after me. I am the one who hunts him, not the other way around."
Tom would stop if he weren't aware there are eyes on him. "His men are literally tailing you. It looks like-"
"And my men are spying on him."
That pisses Tom off. So Marvolo trust people on this Earth as much as to send them after Grindelwald in his name and yet he won't trust Tom with anything.
Marvolo stops once they reach the narrow forest at the base of the hill. It's Tom's favourite spot in Hogsmeade and it seems it appeals to Marvolo as well, because he glances around, gratified, his irritation going away.
"It's quiet." Tom says.
But not too quiet. He always struggles to find a balance he's content with. Enough silence and privacy to allow him to relax, but if the silence is overly heavy, Tom can hear his thoughts clearer than he prefers.
Small animals scurry around, birds chirp up in the trees, adding enough ambient noise to satisfy Tom's needs.
A nest of snakes had recently appeared, hidden further away, but two of them come out, smelling Tom, used to his presence.
Marvolo watches them as they get closer, before looking up in the trees.
"This is the sort of magical forest that attracts fairies." He asserts, a note of uncertainty in his voice.
Tom shrugs. "Yes."
Marvolo raises an eyebrow. Snakes will not cohabitate with fairies.
"There were fairies, but I cursed them away."
"Why?"
"Because I could." Tom says, perhaps too forcefully. "Do you smell someone else?" He asks the snakes.
They bend their heads in unison at Marvolo.
"Smells like you."
Tom pushes away the warmth that blossoms below his ribs, that always rises when he's linked to Marvolo.
He is my father. He must be. Our magic is so similar, brother wands chose us, we smell alike.
"Someone else?" Tom asks.
"No."
"They're smart. Careful." Tom tells Marvolo about Grindelwald's men. The sense of being followed had diminished as soon as the snakes had come out of their nest.
"Yes, because it would take a genius to know snakes have sensitive smell and would most likely communicate with Pareselmouths." Marvolo dismisses it and Tom doesn't like it at all, the lack of concern he displays towards these men, the dismissiveness which he treats Grindelwald with. "What happened with the fae?"
"I just told you." Tom snaps.
"I wasn't aware you dislike-"
"Well, even you can't know everything."
"You are testing my patience, child." Marvolo warns, voice becoming cooler.
"And you are testing mine." Tom shoots right back, fingers curling into fists inside his pockets. "You demand I tell you everything and yet you can't answer half of my questions."
"Do not allow your delusions to distort reality." Marvolo has the nerve to be patronising. "I demanded nothing of you, I allow you your privacy." A brief pause. "Perhaps too much of it."
Tom laughs, bitter. "You're delusional if you think that. You expected me to speak three languages when I was eight, you demanded I lie to everyone about my past, you expected the very best from me-"
"You'd have been that way, regardless of my preferences."
"-Merlin forbid I liked a cat without you knowing about it, or read a book you didn't approve of-"
"I never controlled you." Marvolo steps closer. "Have a look at your little friends, and what they're allowed to get away with. Do you think they're free to roam the streets of London or-"
"A war torn London! Yes, they're not allowed. Of course they aren't! Because their fathers wouldn't like to see them killed or robbed-"
"Calm down. Now." Marvolo hisses.
"You know who'd beg me not to go? Who encouraged me to eat, the last holiday? Bitsy. Pathetic, isn't it? She's the closes thing I have to a parent."
Marvolo's practically in Tom's face.
The snakes gather around Tom, hissing threateningly. The knowledge that if Marvolo utters a single word in Parselmouth would immediately gain their allegiance over Tom's just adds to his rapidly escalating rage.
"I'll make sure to lock you in your room come summer. Keep you safe."
"I'm sixteen." Tom yells at him. "You can't send me to my room! If you wanted to act like a father, you should have started sooner."
Marvolo waves his hand and both snakes lose their heads in a spray of blood. Tom looks down in consternation.
"I would advise you choose your next words carefully."
Tom can't believe he slaughtered the poor creatures. With no reason. The shock of it chills his mind.
"Or what?" He asks, looking up to meet eyes as red as the blood at his feet.
No answer comes, and that somehow infuriates Marvolo more than anything Tom's said. The woods go silent as Marvolo rages, a stillness so forced in his body, Tom expects him to have changed to stone.
It has the opposite effect on Tom. It calms him, because it proves Marvolo, proud, stiff and inaccessible as he'd always been, would not even say he'd hurt Tom, let alone do it.
No matter the lies, he cares about Tom. He has to, doesn't he?
"You don't trust me." Tom whispers into the silence.
Everyone trusts Tom, and he's misleading all of them.
Tom leaves his soul bare in front of Marvolo and he's held at a distance.
Perhaps that's why he doesn't trust you. Because he knows your soul, how gnarled and ugly it is.
Mrs. Cole had said Tom was unlovable, when a couple had wanted to adopt him and she'd deterred them from it.
"You'll just bring him back, he's a particularly odd child. How about William? He's such a delightful, friendly boy. Younger too."
Tom had made his peace with the truth of her words long ago; but he'd thought Marvolo is like him, he'd had that connection with him from the very second they met, and to still be unloved, eats away at him.
Tom cannot withhold information from Marvolo, cannot avoid his question as readily as Marvolo does to him. He doesn't want to lie, and he's doing a poor job at it, anyway.
Tom chose, down in the Chamber to accept that he's at a disadvantage in their relationship, chose to be the one to continue attempting to fix it.
"When I was at Wool's," Tom starts, watching some fallen logs. "A Sister came to visit us, from Ireland." Tom had hid, not wanting anything to do with the Church, but she'd sought him out, when she'd heard the rumours of his supposed satanic disposition.
She'd been fat and Tom instantly disliked her, if only for that, proof she had access to good food, as if the crucifix around her neck wasn't reason enough. She had a harsh, lined face, no nonsense look in her intelligent eyes.
But she'd bribed him with candy and Tom accepted to sit a moment with her, had answered her question about the book he was reading, taking great delight in speaking about the ancient Gods that came to life inside its pages.
"They say Gods liked to fuck human women." Tom had said, mouth full of chocolate, soul filled with spite. "My father's probably a God."
But she didn't react as all the others did to his profanity and blasphemy. She'd laughed instead.
She'd told him that in her tiny village in Ireland, elderly folks talked about changelings, of fairies that stole human babies and replaced them with one of their own.
"Might be your are one." She'd said, and her face broke into a sad smile. "Or might be you're just a wee lad that likes to read, blessed with a rich imagination."
"She told me about changelings." Tom says. "I wanted to be one."
Tom had known he was peculiar, had a special power other didn't. He had been so desperate to find kin that he had been willing to believe anything. "I went to Hyde Park, and I stood there all night, under a tree. I whispered at it, talking to fairies that weren't there, asking them to take me back."
It had been one of the worst nights of his life, and Tom had had plenty of those. But the hope he'd had going in the park and the crushing feeling when no fairy appeared to rescue him had been so bleak, that he'd banished it from his consciousness, sealed it in a solid spot and forgotten about it until he'd stumbled about the fairies in Hogsmeade. Even then, it hadn't come to him immediately. But when the shy fairies approached him, and had devoured the sweets Tom had scattered at the base of the massive oaks, they had offered him a gift in return, a small ruby gem. Somehow that sparked his memory, and he'd grown so upset, ridiculously and unreasonably so, it hadn't mattered to him there were no fairies in Hyde Park to hear his pleas for help. In a fit of rage, Tom made the trees bend down and sway until their little dens were destroyed.
When Tom looks back at Marvolo, his next words die on his tongue.
He'd told Marvolo plenty of bad things that had gone on during his stay at Wool's. And sometimes Marvolo doesn't react at all, sometime he's amused, other times intrigued. Mostly, he's dismissive.
There's something very similar to horror etched on Marvolo's face. He looks vulnerable, and it disturbs Tom.
Marvolo should never look like that, ever. It's wrong.
"A silly thing. That's why I didn't want to tell you." Tom says, softening his voice. And even though there's still fresh blood on his robes, Tom's anger and pain shifts because he has the absurd notion that it's Marvolo who's hurting now.
He turns abruptly, walking away from Tom.
"It meant nothing."
And yet why does it upset you, still?
Because Tom is moody and unstable, the strangest of things set him off occasionally. That doesn't mean they are of any importance.
"It wasn't nothing." Marvolo growls, a few feet away, stopping but still keeping his back to Tom. "Go back to school."
Tom looks down at the dead snakes he had had a few conversations with. Young things, both of them. Gone now, because Marvolo wanted to punish Tom, and couldn't.
He kills so easily.
Tom uses Occlumency to make order in his thoughts, to send the stupid fairies and the stupid Sister back where they belong, in the deepest corner of his mind. He wanders what else he's hiding there, but he hopes he'll never find out.
"Alright. Let's head back." Tom says, clearing his mind.
"I want to be alone."
Tom won't leave him alone. Marvolo's having some sort of episode and Tom doesn't like it, especially since he caused it.
It's always been like that. Even when he's most upset with Marvolo, when he needs to lash out at him, Tom feels terribly guilty afterwards.
He feels the need to apologise, only he stifles it. He had done nothing wrong. Marvolo has no right to be this affected. He wasn't the one to sit under that tree the whole night, sobbing his eyes out, begging for someone, anyone to take him away.
In fact, it's Marvolo's fault Tom was in that position anyhow. If he is Tom's father, that is. He abandoned Tom in an orphanage.
And if he is not Tom's father… but he doesn't want to think about that right then.
He takes out his wand and cleans his robes of blood. If Marvolo wouldn't be there, he'd burry the snakes, but that would be pathetic so he just burns their bodies and small heads. The smell makes him nauseous, but he gets over it, directs all his awareness on transfiguring a branch into a chair.
He accepts no thought to penetrate his concentration, works on his little impromptu project until the branch ends up as a throne like wooden seat, with snakes carved on the armrests.
He sits in it and answers Marvolo's first question, the one Tom's lied about as well.
"I didn't respond to your letters because I'm upset with you. I'm not ready to tell you why. I think it will just make me angrier. You probably don't care, anyway."
Marvolo is as still as a sculpture. Tom wonders if he'd heard a word.
He sits in silence after that.
After ten or so minutes, Mavolo starts walking towards the tiny village. Tom rises and goes after him, hastens to catch up.
Marvolo's face is hollow, but his eyes blaze with fury.
"Red." Tom gestures towards them and in a second they turn as brown as Tom's. "I'll write back now, I swear."
Marvolo says nothing. Perhaps there will be no letters to reply to.
They're back in the residential area, but few people are around. On the weekends students come, locals stay in their houses, sick of the ruckus.
That changes on the next street.
"Hy!"
Myrtle appears so abruptly in his face Tom stops just in time to avoid barreling into her.
"Ah, I wanted to thank you. Olive never bothered me again." She plays with her braids, nervous.
"Great." Tom says wishing she'd leave, less Marvolo kills her too, in this mood he's in.
But she just stands there and worse, Marvolo stops and at first barely glances at her, but then, just as his eyes are about to move past her, looks again.
It's as if he's seen a ghost. He watches Myrtle as if she's something special, when she is the least significant creature Tom had met in his life.
Tom grabs Marvolo's elbow and steers him away, because he's in such a peculiar mood, he just has to get him out of Hogsmeade.
Marvolo allows to be lead by Tom, but his head turns to still look at Myrtle.
"You should head home and rest. You evidently had a long journey." Tom suggests, taking Marvolo to a more secluded spot, right besides the main street.
Tom should rest as well. He too had a long semester. More like a long year.
Sometimes he feels like he's one hundred years old.
Marvolo rips his eyes away from Myrtle.
Tom wants to make him promise he'll be prudent, he'll treat Grindelwald seriously.
Tom wants to Apparate home with him and set Marvolo right again.
He almost suggests Marvolo takes a sleeping potion, because he suspects lack of rest could be the cause of the irrational behaviour. It is for Tom.
He doesn't dare do any of those things, not with Marvolo so volatile and in such proximity to hundreds of students.
Marvolo Apparates without another word and Tom leans on a building, rubbing his temples.
(-)
Over twenty dead Muggles after a dark wizard attack in East London.
In a gruesome act of terror, unprecedented since the times of the Inquisition, an unknown wizard slaughtered twenty six muggles this evening, though the number of victims is expected to rise as both Police and Aurors are still searching the area.
"The handiwork of a madman." Minister Marchbanks declares, visibly affected by the news. "We have teams of Obliviators running around all over the place."
Rumour has it Undersecretary Gaunt is on a mission to calm the Muggle Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, who is said to be ready to disclose the truth to his people, if any event of such gravity is to happen again.
"In all my years at the Ministry, I had never seen anything like this." The head of the department of Magical Law Enforcement tells our reporter. "Body parts scattered around, obvious signs of torture- I ask the magical population to be vigilant and avoid crowded places while the criminal is still at large."
As of the time of publication, there are no suspects.
The Daily Mail will keep our readers informed as the news unfolds and urges everyone reading to be careful.
"Give that man a medal, I say." Abraxas folds the newspaper in half.
Alphard gives him a disgusted look. "You're sick."
"They're just muggles." Walburga snaps at him.
"A senseless murder." Alphard doesn't give up. "Killing for sport. Do you really want to applaud someone like that roaming free in our community-?"
"Shut up." Tom whispers, eyes glued to the picture depicting rubble and scorched buildings.
He had fantasised so many times of burning that Church to the ground.
And now it did.
His wishes always come true, sooner or later.
Yet it's a hollow victory. He'd have wanted it to burn, so the flames could consume the priest, melt his skin right off under Tom's eyes.
The priest's been dead for quite some time.
Tom worries about Marvolo, of the horror that's been on his face, mixed in with rage, just hours before.
Marvolo would never do something as futile, as dangerous; to risk exposure only because-
Tom's not even sure why. But he has an inkling it had nothing to do with Tom. What he'd seen in Marvolo's eyes is the type of hurt one can only feel for one's self, not on behalf of others.
But he knows, as certain as he is the sun will rise in the morning, that it was Marvolo.
Or Lord Voldemort, who is not bound by caution, reason or political concerns. Just led by a primal fury.
(-)
The death count reaches thirty one, the Daily Prophet reports come morning. Five of them were children.
Tom pushes away the plate of food Walburga is trying to feed him.
Has Marvolo always went on a killing spree after a fight with Tom, and he just hid it better?
He doesn't think so. Tom's seen Marvolo furious, frustrated, aggressive, but never vulnerable as he'd been the day before.
When Tom feels vulnerable, he too wants to assert control over something, anything, and when he's at Hogwarts, he can duel his group, let the victory assure him he is the furthest thing from vulnerable.
When he's not at Hogwarts, when he's at his home, he seeks out Marvolo, to feel safe.
Marvolo has no one to keep him safe, Tom thinks with dread.
He'd never considered it, because it's Marvolo- he's transcended the need to be kept safe, the need to be comforted. But there must have been a time, in his childhood at least, where he had needed it, but no one came forth.
I suppose I raised myself.
No mother, no father. No food. A war going on around him.
It was the best I could come up at sixteen.
Marvolo had no one to protect him, so he created Lord Voldemort to keep him safe.
Tom's seen that shift with his own eyes. Seen a powerful, cold, calculated man transform into something even more, into a god of rage, all instinct.
He remembers a time, as a very young child, when he'd pretended to be someone else, when his courage faded in the face of bigger, stronger children. Tom would imagine he was a brave knight he'd have read about in one of his books or a mighty King and he'd find courage like that.
Marvolo had imagined something far more efficient.
(-)
Walburga is the next to be banned from the Duelling Club.
To avoid a mutiny, Dumbledore bans Fleet alongside her.
They both cheated. In fact, Fleet had started it by casting a split second before Walburga had stepped into her assigned spot.
Dumbledore claims he hadn't seen this, but he did see Walburga string of prohibited curses the Professors had written on the board, with bold letters.
Overwhelmed, Fleet ended up kicking her in the abdomen. Even Dumbledore can't ignore such unchivalrous behaviour from one his lions.
Tom has to restrain Orion, while Abraxas does the same with Alphard. They yell threats at Fleet's retreating back, promising a painful retribution.
"You don't even like her." Tom reminds Orion.
"What's that got to do with anything? She's a Black."
In the Common room, Alphard calms and explains to Orion they can't get their revenge yet, that the smart thing to do is wait long enough that they won't be immediately thought of as suspects.
Walburga watches them fight from the armchair.
Tom knows she'll deal with Fleet before Alphard has the time to come up with a plan.
It's one of the things he admires about her. Walburga fights her own battles, she doesn't need Tom, or anyone else, to fight them for her.
There's the matter that they are seeing each other in secret, but even if it weren't for that, Walburga would not want to hold Tom's hand in the hallways or have him escort her around the school, like all the other couples behave.
She doesn't want to be given flowers, like Clara did, or for Tom to offer her his coat when there is a draft.
For the longest of times, Tom thought her behaviour is born from the desire to show the bigoted students that girls are just as capable as boys.
And he isn't wrong, not entirely.
Walburga wants to prove to herself that she's just as good as her male peers.
Tom smiles, remembering her reaction at Abraxas suggestion that perhaps it's unwise she gets tattooed with their secret mark, because girls aren't supposed to mar their skin.
Tom thrills in seeing the mark on her arm, because he put it there, and it's permanent. She might marry Orion, she'll always belong to the Blacks, but he'd have left his claim on her, forever.
Still, when two nights later she pulls out an invisibility cloak from her bag just as they are ending their Prefect Patrol, Tom hesitates.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
She gives him a mocking smile. "Aren't you sweet?" She drawls. "No. If it's just me, he won't complain to anyone about what I'll do to him. It will be too shameful to admit a girl bested him."
"Well, well. There is some Slytherin in you, after all."
She grins, disappearing under the cloak.
Tom waits for her under the trap door. It's quite comfortable. It's also where he keeps books he'd be expelled for if some of the teachers would find them on his person.
He tries to pen a letter to Marvolo, but everything he writes dissatisfies him.
There had been no contact since Hogsmeade.
Tom writes dozens of inches of parchment before vanishing it away.
Too personal.
Too cold.
Too much.
Too little.
He'd never spent as much time staring at a black parchment, waiting for inspiration to strike him, as he did in the last few weeks.
He hears the knock above him and Tom puts the quill into its place before hissing at the trap, allowing Walburga to descend inside.
She'd acquired a few shallow injuries, but her triumphant smirk tells him all he needs to know.
He heals a cut right under her rib, and he has to take off her blouse to do it.
As always, the sight of her naked is the only thing to awake inside him something that it's not tinted with anger.
"I hope the Mudblood didn't tire you too much." He says, and she laughs, pulling at his tie.
Her body is more familiar to him than his own. He doesn't spend too much time examining himself, after all.
He still does his best to avoid mirrors, not liking his own reflection staring back at him.
He's most comfortable in the dark, but it makes her anxious not to be able to see anything.
Tom compromises, and he thinks it's the only compromise he's willing to make for anyone, besides Marvolo.
But it's imperative she feels at ease, so he allows the tiniest of flames to burn as far away from them as possible.
They've been doing this long enough that the rules are established.
Walburga can be on her knees or laid on her back, but she can never be on top of Tom, in any way.
She doesn't seem to mind it.
(-)
They're just about to head back to school, after the last visit to Hogsmeade for the semester when the street erupts into chaos.
One minute all is normal, the next people are screaming, running around like headless chickens.
In the distance, Tom sees a small formation of masked men in red robes.
"Fuck!" Abraxas exclaims, his eyes focused on the foreigners.
Walburga's fingers curl around Tom's arm and she runs too, holding him with her.
For a few moments, Tom goes along with it, his mind reeling.
"We're running into an ambush!" He says and stops a second later.
Everyone is heading towards Hogwarts, students and villagers alike. Tom assumes that is because Grindelwald's men had erected Anti Apparition shields.
As if to prove his point, someone screams further ahead.
It gets even worse. Those at the front try to turn back. Those at the back are still trying to press forward.
So many bodies against him, in a tight crowd.
Now is not the time for your little episodes.
Still, a few more moments being shoved that way and Tom thinks he'd rather take his chances with the masked men.
He takes out his wand and starts throwing cutting hexes around. Abraxas gets the idea and does the same until they clear a path big enough for them to slip away.
"Now what?" Alphard has to yell to be heard over the general ruckus.
"Find a fireplace." Tom says, though he's sure the Floo Network had been shut as well. But standing out in the open is out of the question.
They head towards a secondary street.
Some people had barricaded themselves in stores and establishments.
The foreigners walk in pairs, peering inside them, clearly looking for something.
It's utterly ridiculous. There can't be more than a dozen of them and there must be close to a hundred villagers around and yet they all hide. No one even tries to gang up on the intruders.
Just as he thinks it, the window of the Three Broomsticks breaks, a red-robed man flies out of it, landing on his back.
Hagrid comes through the window next, roaring in rage, swinging his fists around.
The man stands back up and Tom looks away.
Walburga's grip on him is so tight, she's cutting off circulation.
"Let go!" He sneers at her, but she doesn't, eyes wide with fear.
"Put it back on!" Alphard yells at Orion, who had sneaked into Hogsmeade with Alphard's invisibility cloak.
Orion pays him no mind.
Tom takes them through a shortcut on a more deserted street.
Whatever the men are looking for, it's clearly situated on the main one.
It's as if he jinxed it.
Two of them come rushing from behind a corner and everyone stops, their groups facing each other.
The taller one points a wand at his own neck and says something in German, that resonates across the village.
Tom is not very proficient in german, but it sounds suspiciously like "found him."
His eyes are trained on Tom.
What?
"Run!" Abraxas yells and Walburga is still clinging to Tom, once again taking him with her.
"What did he say?" Alphard asks as a spell whooshes past their ears.
"They're looking for Tom." Abraxas clarifies.
"Why?"
Tom has no idea. He'd like to know himself, but that's not relevant at the moment. The most important thing is to get out. Prioritise.
Tom leads them into a house, locking the door behind him after they are all in.
The fireplace is, as he suspected, disconnected.
"Now what?" Orion asks.
Tom pulls his arm out of Walburga's grasp. "Get yourself together." He tells her.
Alphard is panicking, as white as the wall behind him, wand hand shaking.
Abraxas doesn't look too good either.
Tom wishes Rodolphus was with them.
Someone's trying to break the door.
Tom points to the other one, at the back, thinking to sneak out.
They move in silence, Tom catching snippets of conversation from the men behind them.
As soon as they are out the back door, three more masked men appear.
Abraxas flees, dragging Alphard with him.
The men let them go, their eyes, the only feature visible behind the mask, focused on Tom.
"Waly! Orion!" Alphard yells, but Walburga stays by Tom. And so does Orion.
Tom erects a shield just in time to absorb a stunning spell.
"Go with them!" Walburga yells, as Tom doges another curse, just barley.
"No!" Orion's high voice comes from somewhere on the left.
"Confringo!" Walburga says and something blows up, rather spectacularly, but sadly it's not Tom's attackers.
It just serves to piss them off and one of them turns towards Walburga.
Tom dashes back into the house, taking Walburga with him by the hair. Orion sneaks inside a second before Tom seals the door behind them.
"You stupid little shit!" Walburga yells at him. She's bleeding from her shoulder. "You should have gone with-"
"Silence!" Tom commands.
His ears are ringing, due to the adrenaline, he supposes. The panic is yet to settle in, but he's sure it's coming.
They run up the stairs, even though he knows it's a dead end, but the spells he put on both doors won't hold forever and they have nowhere else to go.
They end up into a bedroom and he locks that door too, charms it more heavily than the other ones. He cuts his finger and inscribes three protective runes on it, with his own blood a ritual he had found in the Secrets of the Darkest Arts.
Just as he finishes, he hears one of the doors breaking downstairs.
Walburga is struggling to shove Orion into a closet. "Hide here-"
Orion slaps her hands away. "We jump, when they're all up?" He asks Tom, joining him by the window.
Tom nods. All his muscles are tense, strung up.
He points his wand and Orion and Disillusions him, before doing the same to Walburga and himself.
"I can't believe Abraxas and Alphard just left us." Orion says, very carefully camouflaged. Walburga snorts.
Tom can believe it. He has a harder time believing these two stayed with him.
"When we're down-" He says, surprised his voice comes out as steady as ever. "You run and hide." He tells Orion.
"But-"
"You're thirteen. You're more a hindrance than an aid." Tom cuts over him, sharply. Heavy steps are coming up the stairs.
"Listen to him." Walburga whispers, very close to Tom. "Orion, just go, alright? Try to get to the Owlery. Send a letter to your father."
The door is vibrating as several spells are cast at it.
And finally, the two men under the window break into the house as well.
Tom waits for them to join their friends up the stairs.
"What did he put on this door?" Someone says, in a French accented german.
Tom smirks.
"Use a levitating charm to soften your landing." He whispers to the others.
One man grows frustrated enough to kick the door. As if that would help.
"Stand aside. I'll deal with it." Someone else speaks, and there's something in his deep voice that lets Tom know that guy is to be avoided at all costs.
"Now!" Tom orders and jumps.
He barely regains his footing when someone equally camouflaged cries out. "They're down."
These aren't stupid men. Tom warned Marvolo not to underestimate them.
But that's alright. Tom expected they'd know that would have been the plan. He just needed a few seconds.
He runs.
"To the left." Orion yells, still with them, and Walburga shoots off two consecutive stunning spell in the direction of his voice. One of them must hit Orion, because they hear him falling.
For a second, Tom thinks to stun her too, because they apparently only want him.
But he doesn't. He'd rather Rodolphus or Abraxas back him up, but he prefers her over being alone.
The wizards from the house land around them in a circle.
Frustrated, Tom lets go of the Disillusionment Charm. Clearly, it isn't fooling anyone and the charms will just uselessly drain his power.
"Back to back." He tells Walburga.
She obeys him, even if she's trembling like a leaf. Tom is scared, too. He doesn't want to die. He can't die. That fear is starting to grip his heart, paralysing him. You're not dead yet! But you will be, if you freeze.
He ends up facing three men. They move towards him and it's the disrespect that finally awakes Tom's anger, the fact that they're keeping their wands at their side instead of aiming them at Tom.
Tom's done fooling around.
Only let loose when your life is in danger.
"Bombarda!" He yells and aims at one of them, who laughs and easily sidesteps it. He stops laughing and starts screaming when he lands right into Tom's nonverbal Cruciatus.
They take him more seriously after that.
Walburga's yelling every spell she knows behind him.
Tom raises another shield around them; it takes so many hits it disintegrates immediately, with a gong like noise.
"Serpensortia! Attack them" He orders as soon as the cobra materialises.
Walburga is hit by something, because she slumps against his back, whimpering in pain.
One of Tom's blood boiling curses puts one of the enemies down.
But it's useless. The other two deflect all he throws at them, and Walburga's clearly not having much luck.
"Kill the girl." The man with the deep voice, the one closest to Tom, says.
In English, to make sure they understand.
Tom knows he says it in English to inspire terror in them.
It doesn't mean they won't do it.
Fuck it, Tom thinks.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and even if he never casted it before, because it's insanely dangerous, Tom points his wand and a roaring giant snake comes out of it, in the red-orange flames of Fiendfyre. It splits into another snake before it's even out of the wand and the masked men rear back, desperately raising their wands.
Tom grabs Walburga, turning around, forcing his wand to spill more fire towards the others.
The heat is instant, stifling.
Tom ends the curse, but he knows it will do nothing to the flames already out, that will just devour everything in their path, multiply as they go, unless Tom stops them.
Tom's not sure he could stop them, but he doesn't even try it, dragging Walburga after him, as he tries to sneak out of an opening in the rapidly advancing wall of fire.
She screams in pain and Tom spares her a fast glance, enough to confirm that whatever curse hit her had been a bad one. There's a gaping hole in the right side of her abdomen. Tom can see the muscle, the white bone-
He swallows and presses forward.
The dangerous voice from before yells out a curse and Tom lets go of Walburga and dodges. It flies past, inches from his head.
"Tom!"
Walburga cries for him and Tom looks, faltering, the panic finally sinking in-
Another curse hits her, and she goes down.
Tom turns and flees.
I've no choice, he tells himself. If he stays with her, they'll both die.
It's becoming impossible to breathe, the smoke clinging in his nostrils, clouding his vision.
The Bubblehead charm provides some relief, but it will be temporary. Nothing resists Fiedfyre much.
He has no idea where he is, he can barely see two feet away-
Another one of Grindelwald's men smashes into him. He clearly hadn't meant to, had been a simple accident, the man as blinded as Tom.
He hears the others all around, trying to extinguish the flames, incantations in Latin and German echoing in the distance.
But they can't.
Because he's Tom Gaunt and he's that powerful, not even dark wizards can stop his curse.
The man struggles to point his wand at Tom, but he's far too close. Tom knocks his hand away.
There's been a time, long before, when he's been an orphan with no wand and a fleeting control over his magic.
This wizard is certainly a pureblood and had surely never engaged in hand to hand combat in his life. Tom wrestles him to the ground, seeking to rip the wand out of his hand.
The man won't let go.
Tom leans in and bites his cheek, hard, until he can feel a chunk of meat coming off the bone, hot blood going down his throat.
The pain and shock disable his opponent momentarily and Tom takes his wand, stands, and stomps his foot on the other's face, hard.
A sickening, crunching sound follows that Tom can hear even above the roaring of the flames.
Hungry. The fiery snakes whisper.
Tom's hungry too. He spits the blood out. It leaves a metallic flavour in his mouth. It tastes like victory.
"Tom!"
Tom swears, viciously.
Of course she doesn't have the decency to just die, silently.
He turns back.
He has two wands in his left hand, and he fights his way through the smoke and flames, until he reaches Walburga.
He bends and lifts her up on his shoulder, furious with her and with himself, for being such an idiot.
"Point me" He barks at the wands.
The light leads him through the smoke and dancing flames, onto an alley. He barley gets to breathe some clean air, when, like a nightmare that won't end, three more men emerge.
Tom's done running. There's nowhere to go, anyway. He drops Walburga to the ground and faces them.
Their leader, the one with the deep, calm voice, is amongst them.
But they're not as cocky as they were before. They don't advance on Tom, wands raised, more careful.
One of them- he thinks it might be the one that suffered his Cruciatus- even takes a step backward when Tom raises his own wand, dropping the extra one.
"It belonged to one of your friends." He tells them, stepping on it.
He doesn't bother with shields anymore, going in with a bone breaking curse, followed by a decapitation one.
The first misses, but the second hits one of them, though not in the neck. It severs his arm, right at the shoulder.
A bubble of triumph burst inside Tom.
He's all in. All those curses he read but had no one to try on. He tries them now.
"You cannot win." Their leader says, in broken English, deflecting an ancient Armenian curse Tom had read in one of Marvolo's books. "Stop. Come with us, willingly, and I will not hurt you."
Dark Magic sings inside his veins. Tom waves his hand and a pole collapses, right on top of one of the three, bringing him down.
He knows very well what they want him for. To use him against Marvolo. Tom will not let that happen. They will not get him alive.
The flames had found them, and it distracts the leader, trying to keep them at bay, giving Tom a shot to deal with the remaining soldier, one on one.
But the one that fell down is rising again.
Tom doesn't know how long it lasts, but it is exhilarating. Freeing. Tom lives, truly enjoys life, right before he thinks he's about to die.
He takes many hits, he's bleeding and in pain, his vision blurry, but the fear only comes when his wand is summoned away from him.
Tom watches it arch high into the air, and into the leader's hand.
A traitorous part of him wants to beg, to say he's changed his mind, he'd do anything, as long as he's spared-
You're not a coward. He tells himself, even if deep down he thinks he might be.
But he thinks of Marvolo, how composed he would be, where he in Tom's place. Well, Marvolo would never be in Tom's place. He'd have dealt with these men easily.
Either way, Marvolo would not beg or be frightened.
So neither is Tom.
He performs some wandless spells- the men swear in surprise, but they're not very powerful and Tom's drained of the little he had left.
He falls and knows this is the end. He tries to get back up, doesn't want to die on his back. Walburga is laying a bit further away, eyes open, glassy and unseeing.
Don't be scared, don't be scared. He tries to comfort the petrified child inside him. You went down with dignity.
He wishes he'd see Marvolo one more time. His biggest regret is leaving him alone. Who will make him smile if I'm gone?
His magic tries valiantly to lash out. It comes out in a blast, sending the man approaching him to the ground.
Tom still can't climb to his feet.
This is it. Marvolo will be furious.
"You're quite the surprise." The leader says and Tom stares up into blue eyes. "Your father's son indeed."
Tom can't duck the next spell, it hits him straight in the chest. His limbs go numb.
"My father will find you and destroy you." Tom promises, with his last strength, feeling a vicious satisfaction, knowing that no matter what happens to him, this man will suffer for it at some point.
The flames surrounding them part, abruptly.
The other men shout a warning to their leader.
Through the red-orange fire, a tall man steps. He waves a hand, and the fire dies, as if it had never been there.
Just like that. Effortlessly.
Power radiates from him in a calm but sure wave. He should look ridiculous in his pink and blue robe.
Instead, Dumbledore looks terrifying.
Tom is saved, he knows it in his bones. His eyes are closing, the many curses clinging to him, the blood-loss; Tom can't fight it anymore. And he doesn't have to, he thinks with relief.
The world fades to black.